Well, I Saw the Thing Comin' Out of the Sky
by Mariner
Summary: Why didn't anybody warn us that it could fly?


**Well, I Saw the Thing Comin' Out of the Sky**

**by Mariner**

"Get down, Sam!" Dean yelled, then followed his own advice and dropped to the ground as the bat-winged shape swooped down on them from above. The damn thing was fast; Dean actually felt its horn parting his hair as it passed. The bony tip of one wing grazed his arm, opening a shallow gash across his bicep. Dean spat out a curse, rolled to one side, then kept rolling as the ground below him abruptly sloped downward.

The grassy hillside had looked relatively clear and harmless when he and Sam had climbed it at sunset, but now that Dean was tumbling down it, it seemed to be made entirely out of sharp rocks and planted entirely with thistles. By the time he sprawled at the bottom, he was covered with scrapes and scratches, and his t-shirt was in shreds.

"Son of a bitch!" he growled, pushing up to his knees and reaching for his fallen shotgun. "I'm gonna--"

"Look out below!"

That was all the warning he got before he was unceremoniously bowled over by two hundred pounds of baby brother. A great deal of grunting and swearing followed as Sam and Dean fought to disentangle themselves before the next attack came.

"Shit. Get off me." Dean planted one hand in the middle of Sam's chest and pushed. "Ow."

"Sorry," Sam mumbled. He seemed to have suddenly grown a hundred knees and elbows rather than the usual two apiece, and every single one of them was catching Dean in a tender place. "That thing is a lot faster than it looks."

"No shit." Dean sat up, carefully probing his bruised ribs with the hand that wasn't holding the shotgun. "Why didn't anybody warn us that it could fly?"

"Uhm, because no one has actually seen it? At least no one who's still alive?" Sam climbed to his feet and scanned the night sky with wary eyes. "Where did it go?"

"Wherever it is, I hope it stays there."

In retrospect, maybe they should've done a bit more research before coming out here. But the thing had eaten at least four people over the past two weeks, and neither one of them had wanted to sit around waiting for it to pick off the fifth. The tracks in the woods around the hillside had suggested something corporeal, bipedal and not very big, so they'd loaded up with their usual assortment of weaponry and trekked out to corner the thing after dark.

It hadn't _looked_ all that dangerous when they first spotted it. Short and squat, barely waist-high on Sam, with bandy legs and pigeon toes, it looked more like a mutant garden gnome than a deadly people-eating monster. But neither bullets nor salt rounds penetrated its scaly hide, and flares only seemed to annoy it. And then it had unfurled its wings and took off, which was when everything _really_ went to hell. The foot-long horn in the middle of the thing's forehead hadn't seemed much of a threat on the ground, but stabbing from above it became a formidable weapon, razor-sharp and deadly. The thing tended to aim for the face when it attacked, and Sam and Dean had spent more time ducking than fighting before their downhill tumble won them a temporary breather.

"Maybe we should go back to town," Sam said. "Find out what we're--"

"Incoming!"

Sam dove to the left, Dean to the right. The thing's horn plowed a deep furrow in the ground between them. It gave an enraged shriek and zoomed upwards again, flapping its wings hard enough that Dean felt the breeze from six feet away.

The gun in his waistband was loaded with silver bullets; they hadn't tried those yet. Dean pulled it out now, and fired off three shots in rapid succession at the vaguely bat-shaped blob that blotted out the stars above him. It shrieked again and wobbled sideways as one of its wings collapsed.

"Yo, Sam, silver works!" Dean yelled. He prepared to fire again, but it came down at him like a guided missile, still lightning-fast despite its injured wing. A flailing foot connected with Dean's hand, hard enough to knock the gun from his numbed fingers. The horn stabbed down, and he grabbed for it with his left hand, just in time to keep himself from losing an eye. "Sammy! A little help here!"

It drummed its feet against Dean's chest and batted at him with its one good wing. Up close, it smelled like rotting seaweed and its breath felt hot and disgustingly moist on Dean's face. Dean gritted his teeth and hung on, sweeping his right hand over the ground in a vain attempt to find his gun.

"Sam, get your ass in ge--"

The thing jerked, shuddered, and collapsed on top of him in an unmoving heap. It was surprisingly heavy for its size, and it took Dean a couple of tries to heave it off. He got up, wincing as every scrape and bruise made itself felt, and finally took a good long look at the thing he'd been fighting. It lay perfectly still, wings spread out limply across the grass, the hilt of Sam's silver knife protruding from its single eye.

"Nice throw, dude. Thanks."

"No problem." Sam limped over, looking almost as battered as Dean felt. "What the hell was that thing?"

"Damned if I know. You still got your flashlight?"

"Hang on. It's got to be around here somewhere... yeah, I got it."

The thing had looked black by starlight, but in the glow of Sam's flashlight beam its scales gleamed a dark, rich purple, like the skin of Concord grapes. Dean stared at it for a few seconds in gaping disbelief before giving a loud bark of laughter.

Sam gave him a dubious look. "What's so funny?"

"You know what this is, don't you?"

"No."

"Yes, you do. Come on, look at it."

Sam looked. Frowned. Shook his head in disgusted denial.

"No way."

"Yes way."

"Give me a break, Dean."

"Hey, I gotta call'em as I see'em, Sammy. It's a--"

"Don't say it."

Nothing in the world was going to stop Dean from saying it. "One-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people eater."

Sam groaned and clapped one hand over his face. He stood like that for a moment, then shrugged, shook his head, and bent down to retrieve his knife.

"Sure looks strange to me," he said.


End file.
